


Toolage

by ShipperTrash140109



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: A lot of crack, Bad Humor, Crack, M/M, alex is a mogwai, dont even bother reading, farrier has a doppelganger and collins is here for it, i think im funny, peter is very fast, we really out here hassling tradies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-25 23:23:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18711790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipperTrash140109/pseuds/ShipperTrash140109
Summary: this is really badthe share houses tradie looks like farrier in short shorts and collins is understandably fascinated





	Toolage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brookeluvsdogs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookeluvsdogs/gifts), [Snowpiercer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowpiercer/gifts).



> thanks brooke and ruby for inspiring this monstrosity  
> thanks rory for help with plane innuendos
> 
> sorry for everyone unfortunate enough to stumble upon this

There are not very many rules that can stand unchallenged in the house, the few exceptions were;

  * Don’t leave food out for the Alex
  * Don’t feed Alex after midnight
  * Don’t go anywhere near the spitfire if you value your life
  * Don’t ask about the baguette sword…just don’t
  * No immoral behaviour around Peter and George, no matter what



 

Collins had thought that ‘keep the bottom of the stairs clear’ was one of those rules (because 9 times out of 10, he will fall down them, he will wipe out and take anything and everything with him) but apparently not. Because clearly, someone had thought it was a dandy idea to place a whole ass ACCENT TABLE at the bottom of the landing strip. So naturally Collins tripped and fell down the staircase as he so often does, and then of course proceeded to hit the table and somehow fling it across the room and into the wall, just barely missing Tommy’s head.

This incident left the table in splinters and their poor wall a lot more hole-ey than usual. It was only a matter of seconds before the incoherent shouting of Philippe joined in with the confused spluttering of Collins. “That was mahogany!” he yelled, skidding to a stop in front of his once beautiful table, Collins, whose managed to stand himself up, is understandably upset.

“Why the fuck is there an accent table on the landing strip? Just because you have an accent, doesn’t mean you need to push your accent table agenda on the rest of us!” he shrieks, ready and raring for a fight.

“It was to balance the feng shui you uncultured~” Philippe can’t even finish the insult before Tommy is rushing to clamp a hand over his mouth, dragging the fuming man out of the room before he can cause anyone serious bodily harm. Collins looks back to the wall, a grimace working its way onto his face, that’s gonna suck to fix. It’s then that Alex reveals himself, sipping loudly from a carton of Breaka banana-flavoured milk. Just the sight of the beverage alone is enough to make Collins’ skin crawl and a new distaste for Alex ignite.

“Why don’t you just call Ken?” he suggests, loudly slurping from the straw between each word, the blond slowly going mad with each abrasive sound. Alex is lucky he can run fast.

Peter looks up from where he’s sat on the couch, knitting so fast that not even George, whose taking up headspace on the blond’s shoulder, can see clearly what he’s doing. He’s fast, he’s very fast. Without slowing at all, he asks “isn’t Ken a fence guy?”

Alex freezes, dropping the (thankfully, mercifully) empty carton to the floor, a disbelieving laugh falls from his lips, Peter is so young, so naïve. “That man…he can do anything… anything… anything… anything” Alex never stops saying ‘anything’ but then after the sixth repeat, everyone- including Tommy’s whose just returned sans Philippe- tunes him out.

Peter, who apparently also knows of this Ken bloke, helpfully gives Tommy the details, as Alex is still frozen and repeating ‘anything’ to himself. The brunet then hops on the phone and before long, Ken has been requested and will be over in an hour or two. Collins then spends the following several minutes paying everyone off to not mention how exactly the wall came to be in this form. Mostly for the sake of his dignity, but also because he reckons that even the slightest reference will bring down cyclone Philippe on them all, and they really don’t want that.

When there’s finally a knock at their door, Collins is the first one there, already prepared with a big innocent ‘I definitely didn’t do this’ smile on his face and a neutral greeting that dies in his throat the second he opens that door. It’s Farrier… Farrier wearing- wow- wearing very short shorts and the whitest singlet the Scot had ever laid eyes on. That and quite a lot of… ‘toolage.’

Somehow managing to splutter a ‘hi’ and pointing desperately towards the wall in question, Collins is relieved beyond words when Ken doesn’t seem to pick up on the blond’s stunned-ness. He also, somehow, doesn’t seem to notice how Alex is still chanting ‘anything’ in the middle of the loungeroom. Nope, nothing fazes him, and nothing stops him from immediately getting to work.

Wordlessly, Collins follows him, a dogged determination appearing in the draw of his brows and the set of his jaw. He watched the man fiddle with his little toolbox and toolbelt for a moment, gathering what he’d need. Collins meanwhile already knew that beautiful short shorts tradie Farrier was _all_ he’d ever need. He watched closely, and probably ended up accidentally not blinking for five minutes as he watched Ken work. He was likely the first stranger in their house for months. Usually the only strangers that came around were police officers, and they never got far anyway. Such a turn of events and miracle of human genetics was of course going to catch the young blond’s attention.

He almost doesn’t notice actual Farrier when he finally clues into what Collins is doing, and the first few times his requests for help ‘with the spit’ fell on deaf ears, until finally the brunet bopped him on the shoulder, Collins jumping like he was being snapped out of a coma. He’s a bit miffed to say the least, and catches on immediately to Farrier’s ploy, he responds with a firm ‘no’ and catches the beginning of a terrifying glare before he turns back around to watch Ken again.

When Farrier has stalked off to someplace else Ken speaks up, “not to ask annoying questions, but are you a pilot?” he has a much softer voice than Farrier, with an accent that Collins can’t immediately place. All he knows is that he bloody likes it.

Collins shrugs after he finally gets further enough past the man’s voice to function and speak properly, “I guess you could say that, am just really good with control sticks and… landing strips.” It’s a smart manoeuvre, or at least he hopes it is, he’s not sure what he’s hoping to achieve by acting like this, or even what he’d actually do if Ken played along, but all he knows is that he loves the thrill of it all.

Though, in this game of thrones, your pick-up lines either win or die, and he supposes you could say his died- it really truly died, left in absolute tatters by this frustratingly oblivious tradie. “So…you are a pilot?” mission failed, we’ll get em next time.

“Yes, yes I am, sorry” he stutters, and then mumbles as an afterthought “prayers for my flight path to be landed in” it’s quiet, but something tells Collins that even if Ken had heard, he wouldn’t’ve understood anyway.

This tragedy is enough to keep Collins silent until Ken finishes up and leaves, the wall fixed and taking with it those marvellous short shorts and the nicest set of tools Collins had seen on anyone other than Farrier himself (don’t get him wrong, he loved and desired Farrier as much as he had on the first day of flight school, but Farrier never wore shorts like that, _never_ ).

As soon as that door is shut and the sound of the truck fades into the distance, Farrier and those around him/within striking distance, can rest a little easier.

That is, until they wake the next morning to find a hinge on Alex’s pantry magically broken. Collins barely wasting a few seconds before he’s ringing up Ken again, much to the unease of everyone else. To make matters worse, Farrier is wise to Collins’ shit this time. “Why are you calling him again, we have Alex!” he demands, squaring up to Collins, the two pilots sharing a heated stare before the blond cracks an infuriating smirk.

“The only ‘tool’ Alex has is a roll of 10-year-old duct tape that he found mysteriously buried at the back of our fireplace, we’re not that desperate.”

“Well to me it kind of looks like you _are_ that desperate” Farrier had got him there, he could see it in the narrow of blue eyes and the line forming along his jaw as he grit his teeth. When Collins wordlessly moved away, backing down as he so often does, Farrier tells himself he’s happy with that outcome, and that there’s no need to cuff him over the head. Lord give him strength not to slap a bitch.

Ken reappears before long, Collins practically falling over himself to show the man in, trying to come up with a valid excuse that the pantry door looked like it had narrowly survived an attack from a rabid Scotsman wielding a crowbar. He doesn’t ask questions, as seems to be the norm- that and him ignoring the crack den aka Alex’s bedroom, at the bottom of the pantry. It was like he was immune or something, Collins was very impressed.

After a moment, Collins starts up again, “so, you uh- you know your way around a tool then?” this had to work, surely, he was being dead obvious, even George would know what he was suggesting.

“Well, yeah, that’s my job mate.” It wasn’t often that Collins was shocked speechless, but lo and behold, Ken’s obliviousness had made that list.

He’s annoyed about it up until Ken goes to bend down for something in his toolbox, and those lovely shorts grow strained against the backs of his thighs. Collins swore he felt lightheaded a moment, his eyes growing so wide they looked ready to drop out of his skull.

Whilst this goes on, there stands Farrier, shrouded in a shadow and positively livid. Almost as livid as Alex, whose shadow has just been stolen by the intimidating brunet. Everyone knew Alex owned the dark corners of the house, this was an outrage. He hoped Farrier left, right, goodnight-ed someone just so he’d have his own dark corner back.

Ken’s replacing the hinge, and Collins can barely function as he watches those arms strain and flex as he uses the screwdriver. Collins couldn’t tell who was more screwed right now, him or the hinge. Never one for self-control, the blond barely hesitates before reaching out and touching the arch of the tradie’s bicep. Oh my, oh my my my.

Before the working man can ask any questions, Collins beats him to it, “do ya work out? Go to the gym or somethin’?” he wonders aloud and worries a moment that he’s gone a step too far. But those fears are turned to dust right in front of him when Ken all but throws his screwdriver down, mouth opening and a flurry of excited words about a new program and glee that it’d been noticed. All Collins can do is grin and stare at how his hands move with each word and his shirt (a polo, Collins had thought it a downgrade from yesterday’s singlet up until now) pulled tight against his chest when his arms and hands moved a certain way.

Though tragically, it’s over much too quickly, Farrier skulks past and asks himself what they’re paying Ken for exactly, and from that point onwards it’s all business. Then tradie is once again slipping through Collins’ fingers. Though he supposed it was lucky for everyone that Ken left when he did. If he’d stayed any longer, lord knows how tarnished his modesty would become with Collins feeling as… interested as he was.

The rest of the afternoon the Scot mopes around the house, feeling irritated and too hot and grumpy as all hell. Even Philippe avoids him, because hey, there’s something odd in the blond’s eyes (that and he saw Collins nearly RKO Alex when he took too long to move out of the way).

That afternoon, the house fills with an annoyingly loud and familiar commotion coming from the pilot’s rooms, and for a moment everyone assumes things are back to normal. Obviously, the Ken saga was put to rest (something it seemed the rest of the housemates would not get).

That was, until something must’ve happened, and Farrier’s furious shouting makes the house quake. “KEN, FUCKING KEN? I’LL SHOW YOU KEN YOU CHEEKY LITTLE BASTARD!” everything goes quiet in comparison before Farrier speaks up again “CAN KEN DO THIS?” the words followed by a scream that for a moment sounds more like someone being murdered rather than someone receiving a good ol servicing.

The next morning at breakfast, George is struggling to open a jar of jam, and then out of nowhere, Tommy swoops in and cracks that thing open like an expert. Not even a moment afterwards he turns around and lets a smug smile slip onto his face.

“can Ken do that?” if the drama wasn’t already dealt with, it certainly would be after this.

**Author's Note:**

> peter is very fast
> 
> hmu on [tumblr](https://hardleeharlee.tumblr.com/)


End file.
